


Cerise Acryllic

by cryingoverspilledvodka



Series: Born to Make (Art) History - Promo Telephone Game [4]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Born to Make (Art) History Zine, Canon Compliant, Early Relationship, M/M, Mild Anxiety Symptoms, Romance, Telephone Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 16:12:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17328257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryingoverspilledvodka/pseuds/cryingoverspilledvodka
Summary: Yuuri and Victor attend the gallery after the Grand Prix. Yuuri realises something, much to Victor's amusement. (Not that Yuuri must know that, of course).





	Cerise Acryllic

‘It’s so quiet,’ Victor said, in stage whisper as they sat down together on the bench. Yuuri hummed in agreement, looking around the room as the one or two other visitors wandered in silence, faces turned away to take in the art on the walls.

The carefully placed lighting cast a shadow on Victor’s face from the brim of his hat, and Yuuri watched with a pain in his heart. Yuuri had loved Victor for so long, he almost forgot just how deep it ran. But sometimes, Victor would look like this. Like something Yuuri would never have imagined, knowing as little as he had. And the love would splinter, taking root in new places.  
  
‘Do you think there’s a rule?’ Victor looked over to Yuuri, eyes bright and Yuuri blinked, realising too late he’d been staring.  
  
‘About which?’  
  
‘About the quiet,’ Victor continued, voice a low timbre. Victor’s words went up at the end with his accent, like there was a string attached and he was tugging them up. Yuuri loved that about him, too. Sometimes, Victor sounded like he was singing to Yuuri. ‘Do you think we’ll get kicked out if we talk too loudly?’  
  
‘Probably,’ Yuuri admitted, smiling with the way Victor pouted dramatically, before they both burst into small, hushed giggles. ‘Wouldn’t do to get kicked out. We only just got here.’  
  
‘I never had much time for museums before,’ Victor said, looking back to the paintings on the wall. Yuuri followed him, trying to make sense of the mottled paint and broad strokes. The one in front of them may have been a sunset. The burnished pinks reminded Yuuri of the colour of Victor’s cheeks in the Hasetsu sun. ‘I was always so busy.’  
  
‘We’re still busy,’ Yuuri added, glancing over to see Victor nodding. Yuuri fidgeted with his sleeves, rolling them back up over his elbows where they’d falling over the course of the day so far. He needed to do something with his hands, because at the moment, all Yuuri could think about was the way he itched to touch Victor.  
  
‘Yes! Busy sight-seeing.’  
  
Yuuri shook his head, sighing fondly. ‘Victor.’  
  
‘Yuuri~’ Victor repeated Yuuri’s tone back to him, leaning over to press their shoulders together. Yuuri bumped back. ‘We have to appreciate these things. Who knows when we’ll get another chance? There’s a lot of work between now and Worlds, you know.’  
  
That hit Yuuri in the chest. Long, sharp and right in the middle as the anxiety seized a grip there. Worlds. The next hurdle, looming over ahead of them and Yuuri had already crumbled under the first one at the Grand Prix. Yuuri could see the fracture lines of his carelessness, could see it in Victor’s hesitation. In the way Victor would absently touch the golden ring on his finger, as if to check it would still be there. That was something Yuuri carried with him now, like stones in his pockets.  
  
Yuuri placed his hands down on the bench, pressing his weight on them to try and stifle the temptation of reaching and tugging Victor to him. It would hardly be appropriate, out in public. And Victor would know- he always knew when Yuuri had something on his mind. He tried to focus on the art, and the not the way Victor shuffled closer. So close, his hip brushed against Yuuri’s hand and Yuuri gave up, returning his attention and Victor rewarded him with a smile.  
  
‘Where have you gone?’  
  
‘Nowhere,’ Yuuri said, lying. Victor huddled closer, reaching out to touch Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri tried to keep concentrated on the gilded frames of the paintings, but in the end he couldn’t help but look up at where Victor was watching him, head tilted. Yuuri felt his cheeks heat up. ‘I’m just thinking.’

‘What about?’

‘Art?’

Victor pulled a face. ‘Nice try. Go again.’

‘Just thinking about the season,’ Yuuri confessed, wondering if Victor heard what he wasn’t saying. Sometimes, Victor knew what Yuuri was trying to say so well it was like he could read it off Yuuri’s body. Other times, Yuuri felt like their languages sat between them, too stubborn to let mutual English through.  
  
‘I see,’ Victor said at length. ‘Well, I know you’ll do great! And I’ll do great. So we’ll be great together!’  
  
Victor said this with what Yuuri felt was exaggerated enthusiasm, his brashness brilliant like everything about him, but catching the attention of one of the museum’s stewards. The woman stepped forward, kindly requesting in English that Victor not be so loud. Yuuri was blushing, he knew, but Victor waved her off with a charming apology. He grinned at Yuuri when she left.  
  
‘Guess there are rules,’ he said, whispering again. Yuuri shook his head, smiling.  
  
For a few moments, they sat in silence. But Yuuri couldn’t help himself, couldn’t stop the way his mouth twitched and his breath trembled. Victor poked him with a long, bony finger.  
  
‘What are you laughing about?’  
  
‘Nothing, it’s just...’ Yuuri trailed off, slightly worried he may cause offence. ‘It’s so weird seeing someone tell you to be quiet.’  
  
Victor took that silently, looking surprisingly pensive and Yuuri instantly regretted saying it. Worried he’d upset Victor, worried he’d implied Victor was being too much. Yuuri never felt that, was about to say so before Victor started speaking, interrupting him.  
  
‘You’re always quiet,’ Victor mused aloud, it seemed. He was looking at the paintings now, hands holding the edge of the bench. ‘I’m always wondering about the things you don’t say.'  
  
Yuuri didn’t know what to say to that. Ironically, Yuuri now found himself to fidget with his ring. Turning it around his finger, feeling the drag of the gold there. Wondered if he pressed hard enough, the engraving might mark him there.  
  
The quiet lingered this time, but when Victor moved, it was familiar in a way that pooled in Yuuri’s gut. It surprised Yuuri still, how well he knew Victor now.  
  
‘I have loved you. Hopelessly,’ Victor said quietly as he moved, meeting Yuuri’s eye. Yuuri caught his breath between his teeth, tension drawn up the back of him like Victor with his sentences. Up to a higher note. Victor raised a hand, holding a finger over his lips. Victor’s smile twitched. ‘And silently.’  
  
Yuuri watched as the hand moved, crossing the small distance between them. It slipped under Yuuri’s cheek, tilted Yuuri on his axis. Closer, always closer. Yuuri could feel Victor’s breath against his lips. It made Yuuri’s heartbeat quicken, made his stomach turn over itself like paper. Yuuri tried to look at Victor’s face, where his pale lashes blurred and his freckles brown.  
  
‘Pushkin,’ Victor whispered, the word a touch. ‘I studied him in school.’  
  
‘And you still remember?’ Yuuri whispered back, eyes closing. He could picture it, felt it as real around him as the wood of the bench beneath them. Victor’s thumb came under Yuuri’s lips, a soft press and gentler question.  
  
‘It’s a famous poem,’ Victor continued, voice rasping around the edges like it were shorn as Yuuri parted his lips, following Victor’s guidance. ‘I don’t think I deserve much credit for remembering it.’

Yuuri waited. He waited, but the kiss never came and Victor withdrew after a moment. Yuuri could feel himself pouting, unbidden. He opened his eyes to see Victor was standing up, stretching his arms out. ‘Let’s move along. I have yet to see anything from this century.'  
  
Yuuri frowned, but followed Victor and stood up. Victor walked ahead a few steps, looking over his shoulder to see if Yuuri was following. Yuuri was, but he was thinking. Couldn’t seem to help it now.

‘Did he ever say it?’

‘Who?’

‘Pushkin,’ Yuuri said, watching Victor’s lips, then his eyes. Yuuri always came back to Victor’s eyes. ‘Did he ever say he loved them out loud?’

‘I don’t know,’ Victor said, settling a hand on top of his hat to readjust it back a bit. He shrugged a shoulder, looking so collected when Yuuri always felt so cobbled together. ‘But hopefully he did. It’s a crime to love and not share it.’  
  
At that, Yuuri reached out for Victor’s hand and held it. Victor stopped in his sentence, eyes fixed on Yuuri’s hand around his and Yuuri took advantage, tugging Victor forward. Victor stumbled a little, caught easily by Yuuri, who leaned up on his toes to bring their lips together. Yuuri’s arms were a steady balance around Victor’s waist, Victor’s hands on his shoulders.  
  
When Yuuri leaned back, Victor was bright pink. It was uneven, dark on his cheeks and pale on his nose. Glossed over his skin, like the painting beside them. Victor was looking at Yuuri the way Yuuri loves Victor to look at him.  
  
‘Good thing we share then,’ Yuuri said, heart punctured with the way Victor smiled at him.


End file.
